Man, Son, SatNav, Bus - Part 2

Peter Reader’s beloved wife Mary died of liver cancer in 2014. She was only 58. Shortly afterwards a friend told him “It’s not what you’ve done you’ll regret, it’s what you haven’t done.” Peter thought about this and decided he’d had enough. He left his job and spent all his savings on a 44-tonne refrigerated truck. He enjoyed being self-employed. He particularly enjoyed the overnight runs when there was less traffic. It was quiet, but he was never alone while he had his faith. He’d discovered an American evangelical site on-line and bought the entire bible, both Old and New Testaments, narrated onto CD. It gave him comfort on the long runs. Earlier that night he’d picked up a load of chicken breasts from the processors in North Yorkshire. They were for delivery to a distribution centre near Bedford. When Man left the Services Peter was thirty miles in front of him.

Tomas Povolotski left his home in Krakow in 2012 to look for a better life and got a job driving trucks for a supermarket chain. He didn’t really like the work, and he missed his wife and kids, but at least the money he sent home meant they had a better life. One of the things he’d also hoped to leave behind in Krakow was his fondness for drink. He drank much less now but the long overnight runs were hard, and sometimes he’d take a half-bottle of vodka to help him through. Just before Man left the Services Tomas had picked up a load from the Head Office in Sheffield for delivery to a supermarket in Luton. When Man left the Services Tomas was twenty-five miles in front of him.

Family meant a lot to Rajeev Sandhu. When his brother in India first told him he was bringing his family to visit Rajeev, he worried about how he would fit his brother, wife, mother-in-law and four children into his small terraced house in Rotherham. It had been a crush but they’d had a good time and Rajeev had enjoyed it. But now the time was up and they had a very early flight back to Delhi. His brother said they could take taxis but Rajeev insisted on driving them to Heathrow in a hired minibus. He wasn’t an experienced minibus driver but it was the least he could do. He was a family man. When Man left the Services Rajeev and his family were twenty-three miles in front of him.

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Man had gone over twenty hours without sleep but he felt OK. The coffee and biscuits had perked him up and the hangover was almost gone. SatNav said he’d be home at 06.19, but that didn’t account for stopping for more coffee and calling into the all-night supermarket for a bottle of wine. Man reckoned he could be home by 07.00.

Man drove through the dark listening to the BBC World Service. They were discussing whether to pull down statues of Confederate generals and slave owners in the American Deep South. It wasn’t a very interesting discussion. Man thought you should not try to re-write history anyway. There lies Orwell. Not much traffic, a few cars and a few trucks. Man had always thought it was actually safer to drive at night as you could see everyone’s lights. Man had poor colour vision and during the day he could easily miss say a green car against the backdrop of a field. Of course, it was only safer if everyone had their lights on.

Man passed the Sheffield services, then those near Mansfield. Man knew he should stop for coffee at some point, maybe twice, but at the moment he felt fine and there were lots of exits to nearby towns to mark his passage. After all, he was from the north and knew this road well. But there was a fifty mile stretch before he turned off to go home across country. Man didn’t know that stretch so well. Man would have a coffee there if he could last that long.

Man got through the roadworks patiently this time. Man was in no rush. No more problems now, the second roadworks were beyond where he would turn off. Man still felt fine. Man drove on past Nottingham, then Leicester. No lighting but good conditions, no rain. On the radio there was a discussion between a panel of tenants and a panel of landlords. All the tenants thought the landlords were bastards, and all the landlords thought all tenants were scum. The aim of the program was that through a full and frank exchange of views the different parties could come to some kind of mutual understanding. It didn’t really work. But Man didn’t care, he wasn’t really listening anyway. Man wasn’t even really thinking, he was on remote control. The program was occasionally interrupted by Traffic flashes but there was nothing for him to worry about.

Man pulled into the Rugby services at 05.23. Man only saw one other customer, a dishevelled looking man in his thirties, hanging around the amusements. The man wore a dirty canvas jacket and had lank greasy hair. He looked highly strung, almost deranged and Man wondered if he was mentally unstable. The coffee shop was closed so he bought a latte from the machine in Smith’s. He paid a scrawny but pleasant woman, late fifties or sixties, with thin frizzy hair and a smoker’s gravelly voice, her face suggesting she’d seen too many dawns through the bottom of a gin glass. Poor lass, Man thought, having to work through the night at her age. Man wondered about her home life. Was she a widow? Did she have a dissolute husband? A workshy son? Maybe a daughter with three kids by different fathers? As Man turned to leave the highly-strung man entered. For a moment he considered not leaving the woman alone with him, but decided his presence might cause more trouble than his absence. They probably knew each other anyway. Man pulled out of the services at 05.40.

When Man had first pulled into the services, Peter Reader was just five miles in front of him. Peter was having a good run. He had determined to listen to his Bible CD’s from start to finish, even if the evangelical American accent and style were not to his taste. He’d just got to 1 Corinthians 13:4-5, one of his favourites:

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.”

Peter tried to remember not to be easily angered when other truck drivers got close behind him to make him go faster. He had a clean driving licence and meant to keep it that way.

Meanwhile Tomas Povolotski was half a mile behind Peter but driving faster. He was bored, so he felt around the passenger seat in the dark until he found his vodka bottle then took a swig. He held the bottle up to the windscreen and saw it was half empty. He wondered if he was over the limit. What the hell. It didn’t matter. Even if he got caught the police wouldn’t do anything. His friend Piotr had been stopped after five pints and the police had let him go when he showed them his Polish licence. Too much paperwork.

Rajeev’s minibus had been slowly catching up with Tomas’ truck for some time and was now a few yards behind.

“What time does your plane leave again?” he asked his brother for the fifth time. His brother confirmed what Rajeev already knew, that the plane departed at 09.02. Rajeev did the calculations for the tenth time. The airlines always said to be there three hours early for long flights, but everyone knew that was rubbish. He was confident they would be at Heathrow by 07.00, which would leave plenty of time to get the flight. On the other hand, what if there was a problem? The check-in queues for Air India at Heathrow were notorious. He wished he’d set off earlier. He wished they’d checked-in online. He must on no account bring embarrassment on his family and shame on himself by making them miss the flight. He would have to go faster. He put his foot down and pulled out to overtake Tomas’ truck, but the minibus wasn’t as powerful as Rajeev had thought. All he could do was keep his foot on the floor and inch painfully past Tomas. Tomas noticed Rajeev struggling to pass but he didn’t slow down. If he slowed down in a massive truck like this it would take him ages to get back to speed. By now an Audi coupe was a few feet behind Rajeev, impatiently flashing his headlights. Rajeev tried to keep calm and not show any panic to his family. He slowly overhauled Tomas and as soon as he thought it was safe he pulled back into the middle lane to allow the Audi to pass. Unfortunately he’d misjudged the length of the minibus.

“Idiota!” screamed Tomas, braking sharply. “Imigranci drani!”

He took another swig of vodka then tossed the bottle onto the passenger seat, only to hear a clatter as it slid off the seat and on to the floor.

“Bollocks…” muttered Tomas.

Five minutes later, as Man approached the junction where he would leave the motorway he was driving up a steep hill. There were two trucks between him and the junction but they were struggling up the incline so it should be easy for him to overtake before he had to pull off. As he went past Man noticed there was a heavily loaded minibus wedged in between the two trucks.

Neither Peter, Tomas or Rajeev even noticed him as he overtook. Peter was still engrossed in his Corinthians CD. Tomas was driving as close as he dared to Rajeev’s bumper to punish and intimidate him for his previous misdemeanour. Rajeev was driving just a few feet behind Peter. He was nervous and trying to get away from the idiot on his backside but daren’t try and overtake Peter’s truck, not after the previous episode with Tomas, especially not up this hill.

As Man pulled past Peter he realised he’d misjudged the distance to the junction. Man must be more tired than he thought. Man had to veer sharply left to make the exit road. “Sorry mate” he mumbled. Man raised his hand in admonishment and acknowledgement of his guilt, but he doubted if the truck driver would be able to see it. It was 05.53. Man began to relax now, knowing he was on the last cross-country leg of his journey. Man was less than an hour from home so 07.00 was looking good. And he was feeling good. It was beginning to get light, there was no traffic, and in an hour’s time he’d be tucked up in bed with a large glass of red, maybe a bacon sandwich.

Peter was still lost in Corinthians and wasn’t really paying attention to the road or his driving, so when Man flashed in front of him he automatically hit the brake. He didn’t brake hard and Rajeev was easily able to compensate when Peter’s brake lights came on. Unfortunately, Tomas was groping around for his vodka bottle on the floor of the cab and wasn’t looking at the road at all. 

At 06.39 Man pulled into the supermarket car park. Man had never been in a supermarket this early and found it strange to be the only customer, surrounded by workers busily stacking shelves and completely ignoring him. Man paid for his wine, bread and bacon and left. At 06.57 Man reached his home and unlocked his front door. At 06.58 he sent a text to Son to say he was safely home. At 06.59 he poured a glass of red wine and started frying the bacon. At 07.00 he switched on the radio to listen to the news. The first story was about Syria. The second was about an on-going political sex scandal. At 07.03 the presenter moved onto the third story:

“Reports are coming in that the M1 is closed Southbound between Junctions 15A and 15 following a serious collision involving two articulated lorries and a minibus. All occupants of the minibus, which is believed to have been carrying an Indian family on their way to Heathrow, are said to be have been found dead at the scene. The drivers of the lorries have been detained by the police for questioning. It is believed one of the drivers involved may have been drinking.”

“Crikey” thought Man, “I must have been quite near that.”